


Simple

by Seventeen_Juice_Boxes



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: 41st Timeline (The Magicians), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, And is incapable of writing sex scenes without long emotional symbolic buildup, Blowjobs, But Margo is there and very important, But it helps, Come Eating, Consent Issues?, Cunnilingus, Depression, Discretion Advised, Eliot kisses Q like 4 seconds after meeting him but, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Hair-pulling, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, In a manner of speaking, It's mostly fluff I promise, It's not unwelcome so, Light Dom/sub, Love cannot fix mental illness, M/M, Minor Angst, Multi, No Beast AU, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Season 5 doesn't exist fuck you, Size Kink, Strap-Ons, Strong Elements of Choice, Suicide Attempt, The author can say queer, The author is a poet, The author is trans and self-indulgent, This fic is not about Q being trans, This sounds a lot sexier than it probably is, Threesome - F/M/M, Trans Quentin, Undernegotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Where everything is okay, but it is there, don't come for me, fight me, i guess, in the past, literally two words, season one, technically, this is queliot, very brief - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22934902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seventeen_Juice_Boxes/pseuds/Seventeen_Juice_Boxes
Summary: "He winced, then launched off into a tirade. "Okay, so like, we're soulmates, and so are you and, um, Margo, and, fuck, me and Margo, I guess, and i just, I mean, were you joking?" He glanced up, only for a moment.Eliot tilted his head. "Joking?"Quentin sighed. "That first day, about, like salves, and shit. Did you mean it?"Oh, Eliot was so very, very fucked. Pretty nerd boys were his kink, but brave pretty nerd boys, just tie him up and call him baby already. He smiled, the face of a man usually so confident, now so far out of his own depth he could barely see land, and just nodded. Simple, easy. Quentin smiled, and oh, oh, oh fuck. Eliot was gone. And then they were kissing again, like it was the simplest, easiest thing to do."OrEliot, Quentin, and Margo are all soulmates. They've all taken their own paths to here, in this bed, on this night, where everything is so blissfully simple, and no one has to fight to be loved.
Relationships: Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson/Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater & Margo Hanson, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Margo Hanson, Quentin Coldwater/Margo Hanson/Eliot Waugh, and the undying platonic love way, last three in just the sex way
Comments: 14
Kudos: 143





	Simple

**Author's Note:**

> Don't talk to me about the WIPs. I know, trust me, I know. I just needed to get this plot bunny out out my head. Season 5 is dead and I'm bringing in its corpse for the reward money.

Looking back on it, the whole system didn't real make a whole lot of sense. Where was the cut off for "first words?" What if you didn't speak that language? What if the words were "hello" or "excuse me" or "one venti snickers iced coffee with a pump of espresso please?" But as long as recorded history had been around, so too had the soulmate record. Of course, soulmates didn't always work out, some died young, some never found each other, some cheated, some never got their words, some had multiple marks, the world record being 106 soulmates, so many that the lines overlapped each other. It wasn't exactly a perfect system.

But Eliot Waugh didn't care about that. Eliot Waugh only cared about the words that appeared on his left forearm on the morning of his sixteenth birthday. Namely, "Uh-huh." Literally. That's it. A little, two-syllable noise. Not even proper words. It was, frankly, bullshit, in Eliot's opinion. But it was enough for his parents and his brothers. He had worried it would be something incriminating, something with "he" in it. But it wasn't, and he could breathe. That didn't stop the pure blinding panic Eliot felt when he got in the shower the next day and say more writing, scrawled on his inner right thigh. "You're not going to fuck him, you know." In all honesty, it was something of a relief. That Eliot wasn't deluding himself, that he does really, really like men. And that other people, someday, would know it. But the words didn't seemed judgmental, rather teasing, amused. Oh god, his soulmate. Soulmates. They understood him. And he could hide it well enough. And that was enough to keep him going.

But it's not like he was going to wait. He didn't want to look like a fool when he slept with his soulmate for the first time. No, he'd make it good for him. Them. Whatever. So he practiced. "Straight" football players, closeted trans men and women, the bouncer at the bar in a bar 5 towns over who called him out on his shitty ID, guys with girlfriends looking for a fun night, whatever he could get, he took. Eliot Waugh loved sex. And while there were plenty of things he hated himself about, he wasn't going to be shamed for liking feeling good and making others feel good too. Eliot Waugh wasn't Indiana. He was queer and he would not be put down for that. He was strong and powerful and oh my god the bus and the blood and Eliot Waugh was magician and nothing an everything made sense and fuck he just 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦. 

And so he ran. As far and as fast as he could, all the way to Brakebills, where maybe things could be simple. Maybe he never really stopped. Not even with Margo. Until, well, Quentin.

Quinn Coldwater turned fifteen in a psych ward. alone and terrified. They regretted it obviously. Fuck, they almost never saw their marks. But that didn't make it go away. The crushing weight pressing down on your shoulders of hating yourself. Of not knowing who you are, what you are. What's coming next if you live past sixteen, which feels so fucking impossible. But they left the psyche ward and they lived and they turned sixteen in their own bedroom, in front of the mirror, anxious. What if they didn't have nay marks? What if they had too many? What if-Oh. Fancy script appeared just above their collarbone, plainly visible. "Quentin Coldwater?"

Click. Quentin? Who the fuck was Quentin? He wasn't Quentin. He was Quinn. He. 𝘏𝘦. Oh fuck. Hating his body, his hair, his name, it all made so much more goddamn sense. Quentin. He looked at his face in the mirror. Quentin looked back at him. He smilled, long hair framing the rare sight. He moved to push it back behind his ear and caught a glimpse of more writing on his left arm, curling down towards his wrist. Looking, he couldn't help but laugh. "Hi, I'm Margo! This is him. Hmm, he's not that cute." Fuck, people called him, well, him. And people that he was cute! Alright, average, but it was still an ego boost. He didn't wait till the morning to tell his dad. Woke him up, showed him his marks and oops, came out to his dad. But Ted Coldwater was a good man. He blinked his bleary eyes and just kissed his son on the head, and said. "I'm happy for you, curly Q. Quentin. Get back to bed, alright?" And it was a simple as that. It was always as simple as that with his dad.

Julia came next, and while her response was longer and more tearful, at least, over the phone it sounded that was, but the sentiment was much the same. Quentin Coldwater was loved and accepted. His mother didn't have a placei n his life anymore, and she didn't get to have a say in his life anymore. And when things felt like they were falling apart, there was Brakebills and Eliot and Margo and things were as simple as they could ever be with Quentin.

Margo Hansen didn't know when her birthday was. I mean, she had a general idea, a month, maybe, but she didn't know when her birthday was. Her mom didn't remember, there was no circulate, and her step-dad was, well, a step-dad. And an asshole, but that's unrelated. She knew when she work up and went to calm her hair, only to see black, messy handwriting wrapping around the side of her neck, disappearing between her chest. With some careful maneuvering, she was able to read it. "What? Hey!" Good. Whoever it was, she seemed to start things off by offending them. Good, she was offensive, and any fucking soulmate of hers can get with the program. Margo Hansen was her own woman, she didn't need a soulmate who didn't respect all that hard and glossy armor she put herself in.

She didn't tell her folks. They didn't get to know, they probably wouldn't even care. Maybe she didn't even care. However, things got a lot more exciting when she slipped off her bra that night and saw the script curling under her right breast. "Oh, I was hoping he'd fuck me, to be perfectly honest." She snorted. Staring a relationship off with fucking other people. That was so very her of her, and she wouldn't have it any other way. It was all so simple, when you got down to it, so perfectly fitting and simple.

Margo didn't look for her soulmates. Call her an idealist, secretly anyways, she might break your teeth if you said it to her face, but she believed in the integrity of the process. And she didn't need a soulmate. She didn't even know if she wanted one. It was the day after that crazy fucking exam into Hogwarts or whatever, sitting in a seedy bar with shitty alcohol that she met him. it was almost too fitting. 

The man at the bar next to her, tall, well-groomed, pretty, was clearly ogling the bartender. A young 20-something with freckles, long hair, and an awkward laugh, hand behind his own neck. She laughed into her drink at the poor man, and said, almost thoughtlessly, "You're not going to fuck him, you know." His breathe caught for a moment, before he turned to her, his eyebrows shooting up, before:

"Oh, I was hoping he'd fuck me, to be perfectly honest."

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 guy? 

𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺?

It seemed he was thinking the same thing, because they both began to speak at the same time.

"Do you have-" Eliot started just as Margo went for:  
"Are we-"

They both laughed, each a little too drunk to drive, and he tried again. "We should get out of here," he laughed at himself, "that's not a proposition."

She rolled her eyes and pulled him out of the bar, tab unpaid, ignoring the pretty bartender. It was late, or early, depending on your definition, and they walked, and they talked, and they got a hotel and they fucked and yeah, Margo could so work with this. Especially after a moment involving a floating condom, revealing that her and her soulmate were both magicians. At Brakebills. Yeah, she could so totally fucking work with this.

And maybe they weren't meant to be girlfriend and boyfriend. That became pretty fucking obvious, about a week in, because Eliot was about 95% into men and Margo couldn't do the girlfriend thing. The sex was good, so good, but it wasn't, it couldn't be romantic. But they were still so obviously, beautifully soulmates. The secrets trails alone were proof that Eliot would always love Margo. His Margo, his Bambi, his soulmate. They often wondered about their respective other mark. The same person? They hoped so. But they never looked. They would come to them and they would love them, and things could be simple.

Quentin stumbled into a bright, green lawn into upstate New York with the most delightful confused expression Eliot had even seen. Oh, him and his first year boys. The man, Quentin, apparently, stumbled up to him, going to speak, but Eliot beat him to it.

"Quentin Coldwater?" It was absurd, the name, but it suited the frumpy nerd before him. 

"Uh-huh." He replied, after a moment. Quentin had been greeted like that before, and he learned to stop getting excited every time a new therapist greeted him.

But Eliot's heart skipped. It wasn't like it was an uncommon phrase. He had considered it the most bullshit aspect of this whole soulmate thing for years now, that stupid little "uh-huh" on his arm. But he knew. He knew how he knew with Margo, this time last year, come to think of it. It was, in every was, a simple, ordinary introduction. But for Eliot, it was even simper. He hopped from the sign, approached the boy, told him, "I'm Eliot. You're late," and, before the poor man could even get another word out, Eliot was kissing him. And against his better judgment, Quentin was kissing him back. He'd had weirder introductions. Maybe he was French.

But then Eliot pulled back, and walked, Quentin stumbling after him. "Let me make this simple," he started, "I'm Eliot Waugh, and we're soulmates. I have another one, and she's my everything, but it's not like how you're thinking about it. You're at Brakebills, aka discount Hogwarts, and you're going to miss the exam, and we can't have you failing, because then how would I make salves for you when you're old and decrepit if you don't remember magic?"

A pause, then another. Then "Hey, uh, am I hallucinating?" Eliot laughed, indulged him, and sent the poor boy off to the exam with a semi, most likely, and a simple promise to find him later. First, Margo.

Oh, how his Bambi indulged him. He raved about the cute boy on the yard for the better part of an hour, and she pet his hair, an easy smile teasing at the corner of her mouth, and listened. It was so different and yet exactly the same as Eliot does with all his cute first year boys, it was almost laughably simple.

They found Quentin in his room, being bullied by some, psychic? He looked the part. Patrick? Peter? Eliot didn't care. They interrupted the tormenting and Margo looked Q up and down, sizing him up, before smiling warmly. "Hi, I'm Margo!" She took hold of his stupid tie. "This is him. Hmm, he's not that cute."

He stared at her, dumbstruck. "Wha-Hey!" Hey began to be offended, before it hit him. "Oh. Already?"

She looked at him, eyebrow raised. "Share with the class, Coldwater?"

"We're soulmates. I-Well, I mean, like, I have-Those words. On. Me. So i think we're soulmates. Sorry" He fixed his eyes on his shoes as the psychic slipped out, so not wanting to be here for this.

She looked at him, humming. "Hmm, yeah, alright. I can work with that. I'm not going to be your fucking girlfriend, nerd boy, but" She laughed. "You know how to handle a clit, Coldwater?"

He went pink, squeaking, and Eliot jumped to his rescue. "Alright, Bambi, let the poor boy breathe. You can accost him after the tour. She laughed, a simple, bright sound, and the three headed out onto campus as one.

Unfortunately, Margo's playful teasing of Quentin would have to wait, because they didn't see much of each other until Quentin was placed in the cottage, and that night, Eliot, in a dramatic robe and a glass of wine, heard the shy knock at his door. He opened it looking flushed. Eliot smiled warmly and simply stepped aside to let the poor boy in. He scurried past him to stand awkwardly by the bed, like he wasn't sure if was allowed to sit on it. "We should, um, talk." He began.

Eliot smiled, a little helplessly. "Go on, then."

He winced, then launched off into a tirade. "Okay, so like, we're soulmates, and so are you and, um, Margo, and, fuck, me and Margo, I guess, and i just, I mean, we're you joking?" He glanced up, only for a moment.

Eliot tilted his head. "Joking?"

Quentin sighed. "That first day, about, like salves, and shit. Did you mean it?"

Oh, Eliot was so very, very fucked. Pretty nerd boys were his kink, but brave pretty nerd boys, just tie him up and call him baby already. He smiled, the face of a man usually so confident, now so far out of his own depth he could barely see land, and just nodded. Simple, easy. Quentin smiled, and oh, oh, oh fuck. Eliot was gone. And then they were kissing again, like it was the simplest, easiest thing to do.

In a way it was. Somehow, Quentin could see the future in perfect quality. Him, and Margo, and Eliot, and a simple life of just letting himself be loved. Letting himself love people. He didn't even know the man against his lips, and yet it was like he'd know him 50 years, or 40 timelines, or an infinite universe of possibilities all ending with him falling, in some way, and finding himself here, in one variation or another. He didn't know how he knew it, but he did, and it was so, so wonderful to be loved, wasn't it?

They didn't fuck, that night. In fact, they didn't fuck for months. They went on dates, the three of them as one, or in individual pairings. Q learned how to be a magician, and Eliot learned how to be Q's boyfriend. Q, who lasted a month without his meds, fuck the dean, by the way, before he came crashing down and didn't leave his room for a week. Eliot and Margo kept him clean and fed and alive and spent a good week apologizing when he felt like a human being again. And they just smiled at him, and told him to never be sorry for needing help, and kissed his head, and that was the simple, blissful end of that. 

Not to say that Quentin didn't worry, it was practically a full time job for him, but he learned how to be okay with letting people who loved him be there for him. In a way, that's what led them to tonight. The simplest place he could ever end up, if you though about it. 

Quentin, merely resting in Eliot's bed eyes closed, but not asleep, Eliot at his desk, humming as he attempted to work despite the very distracting boy in his bed. Eliot was past the teenage worries of why Q wouldn't fuck him, but it didn't mean his poor cock didn't absolutely love the idea. Suddenly, there was a gasp from the bed, and Q was very suddenly on his feet. Eliot turned around. "Q? Baby, you good over there?"

"Fuck, El, I forgot-I need, I gotta, I need-" and he was gone. Against his better judgment, Eliot was after him in less than a second, and then they were in Q's room, and he was digging frantically through a drawer, his medicine drawer, to be more accurate. 

Eliot came up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist, kissing the back of his neck, soothing. "Hush, little Q, tell me what's wrong."

It was almost a full minute before Quentin finally answered, faint, like a cornered child, "Shots. I need, I forgot to take my shots.It's just meds, I promise."

Eliot smiled, and simply slipped out of the room with an understanding acknowledgment, letting him take his shots. He was curious, but he wasn't nosy.

And then they were back in Eliot's room, on his bed, and Q was thanking him, and Eliot was laughing, bright and shining, assuaging his fears, and then kissing. God, Eliot would never get tired of this. Kissing Q felt like making himself whole, like a part of him that wanted to be mended. Kissing turned to making out and then Eliot was on top of Quentin, almost giddy, as he moved to kiss down the side of his neck. This as far as they usually got, but Quentin hadn't stopped him yet and Eliot was ever the opportunist. However, the simple motion of moving to take off Q's sweatshirt sent him into panic, and Eliot found is wrists held in place at the hem, gently. He just smiled, faint. "Talk to me, Qunetin, it's okay.

Q huffed, then let go of Eliot's wrists, and was brave. "Okay, so like, I should have told you this earlier and I didn't and it's okay if it changes things because I totally lied to you and Margo and I'm sorry and I just don't know how to tell you that, I'm, uh, well, I'm sorta, I'm-" He got quiet, then looking up towards the headboard, unable to look into Eliot's eyes a second longer. "Trans. I'm trans. Yeah. Uh, sorry." 

Eliot just sighed, almost wistful, but he didn't speak. Q beat him to it, small and afraid. "Please say something, El."

It was simple, in retrospect, how easy it was to love the idiot beneath him. "Quentin Coldwater. You are, without a doubt, the stupidest fucking boy I've ever had in my bed. You're trans, okay. It doesn't bother me and it doesn't change things, and Margo couldn't give two fucks about that, I promise." He smiled, laughing. " I love you." It was so easy, so simple, so say it. He could only say it like that to Margo. But he could say it to the nerd in his bed. the nerd he very promptly went back to kissing. Eliot pulled the sweatshirt off, and then he was kissing along Quentin's own name, black against pale skin. His name, Eliot's writing, a simple combination of unexplainable forces. Q moaned, softly, at that, almost a whimper, and oh, that was such a nice sound. Eliot decided he's like to hear it a million more times, at a start.

He moved, then the Q's left arm, down Margo's soulmark. Margo, who loved Q so much it hurt, who's eyes watered at the sight of Q curled up helplessly in his bed, who bought him pretty clothes because he "deserved to look nice, El," who never once made any of them feel like they had to chose, who knew how to love someone without being their girlfriend, who knocked their heads together when they refused to talk, who let Eliot talk about cute boys and let Quentin ramble about Fillory until he started to cry, thinking of himself in that ward at 15 and his only possession that stupid book. Margo, brilliant, beautiful Margo, so effortlessly simple and intelligent in her love. Yes, she was their soulmate, regardless of whatever Q's scarred arm said.

Margo, who chose that moment to walk in, laughing, amused. "Oh, sorry boys!" She wasn't even a little sorry and she didn't pretend to be. Eliot opened his mouth to speak, but beautiful, brave Q got here first, simple and direct.

"Hey Margo. I-um, I'm trans, and Eliot and I are gonna-uh, yeah, if you wanna hang out or-or whatever." His face was tomato red, and it was gorgeous. Margo smiled, shutting the door.

"Why El, have I just been invited to a threesome with you and your nerd boy?" he was her nerd boy, too, but sometimes, the illusion was simpler, and fun, not to mention. 

:"I believe so, my Bambi." Eliot replied, amused.

Margo laughed, bright, and then her dress was on the floor, no bra, no panties, and she was beside Q on the left side of the bed, kissing down her own soulmark, as Eliot moved to the right side to lavish his own. Q whined, writhing on the bed, rubbing his thighs together until Margo moved a hand between them and pressed up against the crotch of his sweats, where he was already soaking right through his boxers and onto his sweats. If he was embarrassed about this, or even noticed it, he didn't say. Eliot took that moment to move from his soulmark to his nipple, and Q almost wailed. Eliot pulled back, smirking. "Are you sure you're not a virgin, Q?" 

"Oh my god, shut the fuck up Eliot, you know I'm not." But he was laughing, no longer offended at the teasing notion. Eliot responded in kind and then he was back to it as Margo worked Q out of his pants and boxers with practiced ease, discarding them without a second thought. Then, in a complicated shift of positions and limbs, Margo was sitting on Quentin's chest, leaning down and pressing Q's head between her breast to kiss down his soulmark, and Eliot was between Q's legs, spreading his thighs gently and licking around Q's little dick, humming, amused, almost teasing.

Q's punched out, shocked little moans were muffled by the chest of the laughing Margo, and Quentin didn't realizes that sex could be this fun. That is wasn't all lights off and hushed voices and frantic, sloppy handjobs in the guest bedroom of Julia's parent's house with a guy who's name he didn't remember. This was fun, and simple. It was always so simple with Eliot and Margo. 

Apparently done with teasing, Eliot buried his face against Q and drove his tongue inside of him relentlessly, and Q threw his head back, abandoning Margo's chest in favor of moaning Eliot's name, panting, as if shocked by his own pleasure. Margo, never one to let herself be neglected in bed, yanked Q's face up by his hair, eliciting another loud moan, and oh, there was a fun thing to play with. Another day, though. "Wanna eat me out, Coldwater?" He nodded, frantically, and he pressed him back into the bed, and scooted up, lowering her pussy carefully against his mouth.

Q had little or no experience, if Margo had to guess, with this, but he more than made up for it in frantic, sloppy enthusiasm as he ate her out with gusto, stopping often to suck gently on her clit, and Margo lest herself in it, still careful not to suffocate the poor nerd.

It wasn't long before Margo was riding his face with little in the way of inhibitions as she felt herself nearing her peak and then she was moaning Quentin's name and cumming across his face and down his chin, which he didn't hesitate to lap up. Oh, such a  
good, perfect, simple boy. 

He whined, desperate, as she moved off of him, content to lay beside him, sucking a nipple as Eliot worked and she recovered.

Q, too, was close, if the was his breathing picked up and he ground down against Eliot's face was any indication. As Eliot wrapped his lips around his dick fully, Q screamed out, "El! Oh, god, fuck, Eliot, yes!" And then he was gone, and Eliot was happily drinking up everything his little nerd boy had to offer him. He pulled back, smirking and looking up at Q as wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, Quentin sighed, watching him. "Eliot, god, I wanna suck you. And, and I want, Margo, with the fucking, the strap." His voice broke on the last word, but uninhibited, horny Q was quickly becoming one of both of their favorite Qs, and they both sprang into action. Margo lept from the bed to dig around in Eliot's closet, and Eliot was shedding his robe, which was barely still on anyways, and helping Q, on jelly legs, reorient himself at the foot of the bed as Eliot lay with with his head against the pillows, cupping Qs pretty face. 

Q got a proper eyeful of El's cock for the first time, and he swallowed. Quentin love sucking dick, but holy shit, he didn't even think he'd be able to take half of it. Eliot only smirked, softly, and asked, "Impressed?" Q nodded, simple and dumb, and Eliot only hummed. "Do your best, my perfect, eager boy."

"Help me?" Q asked, and then Eliot's hand was in his hair, guiding him as licked tentatively around the head, his hands coming to rest on Eliot's thighs. By the bed, Margo had finished adjusting her strap on, and she was climbing behind Q on the bed, suddenly slipping two fingers into him, making him moan, low and long, right as he wrapped his lips around the head of Eliot' cock. That sent Eliot, and his head flew back against the pile of pillows as W's increasing moans reverberated all the way down to his spine.

Margo was relentless, opening up Q, gentle, but determined and so, so fucking hot. A woman on a simple mission, both for herself of for the other parts of her. Slowly, El began to guide Quentin further and further down, and, while slightly more experienced here, Q's unbridled enthusiasm was his defining factor in his oral skills. As he hollowed out his cheeks, working to take a writhing El, who was using every ounce of his willpower to keep his own hips in place, as deep as he could, Margo decided he was ready and, after a quick check in, slowly pressed her self into Quentin, who whimpered around El before pulling off to breathe and moan. Eliot didn't let him get away with that before long, and suddenly Q was back on him, stuffed full at both ends as Margo bottomed out. The all paused amount, and then Eliot was fucking his mouth, willpower gone, listening to Q choke, still attentive despite his nerve-endings being set alight, and Margo began thrusting, hard and angled perfectly, adding a hand to work Q's dick, which sent him mewling around Eliot.

It was Eliot who came first, thrusting inside of Q's perfect mouth maybe another dozen times before he was yanking on Q's hair as he swallowed around him, and Eliot was gone, shooting down Q's throat with a moan that was maybe half-Quentin, half mindless pleasure. Q swallowed and pulled of, them pressed his head against Eliot's stomach as Margo fucked him hard, hitting that perfect spot inside of him and working his oversensitive dick to just the right side of painful. 

Q began to bed, pleading with Margo, Eliot, someone, please, anyone, just let him cum, and then Eliot was humming, brushing a thumb over his cheek, and Margo leaned down over his back to whisper in his ear, :Go on, baby, cum for us" and Q was rushing through his second orgasm of the simplest night of his life. When his vision came back, Margo has pulled out and discarded the strap on. Eliot pulled him up, tucking his head under his chin, and then Margo was behind Q, kissing between his shoulder blades. Margo did a simple few tuts and waved her hand, magically cleaning the trio up, and the blankets pulled themselves up around them with the shimmer of Eliot's power.

"I think," started Q, clearly moments from sleep, "that I love you both, so much." They both laughed, warm and bright.

"We love you too, baby Q. Sleep, we'll still be here in the morning." Eliot told him, gentle, as Margo hummed her agreement, kissing him gently until he dozed off. The pair looked at each other, over the shoulder of their sleeping boy. Eliot raised an eyebrow.

"How'd I get so lucky?" it asked

Margo shook her head.

"We. How'd we get so lucky?" It corrected.

Eliot shrugged.

"Maybe we're good people." Almost a joke. Maybe not.

She rolled her eyes.

"We've never been good people El."

He shook his head, determined. 

"We are. We are good people, Bambi, and we don't deserve to suffer."

She stared, then nodded, slow. 

"A soft epilogue, then, my love."

He tilted his head, confused.

"Epilogue?"

She shrugged again.

"We've been here before, I feel it. This is the good one, We've won, El." She smiled, so warm and simple.

He nodded, slow and agreeing.

"A soft epilogue."

And with that settled, they nodded off, and 40 timelines, deaths of friends and loved ones, monsters and quests and gods and and apocalypses and magical fascists and faeries and far-off lands and ruined childhoods were just unpleasant dreams, forgotten come morning, in worlds that didn't happen, that weren't theirs.

And when the morning came, the sun shined though the windows and they stayed in that bed, their own corner of the universe, and the world didn't end, and everything was so beautifully simple.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos a Happy Author Makes


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